


Rusty Boys

by Ozzyyy



Category: Rust (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Brotherly Affection, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Protective Wilbur Soot, That's just their state of being in fanon tho huh, if you feel bad about it, see this in any way romantic and i will fucking break your legs, thats your common sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzyyy/pseuds/Ozzyyy
Summary: Edit: HOW THE FUCK DID I FORGET TO ADD A SUMMARY? I WAS SO TIRED WHEN I DID THIS LMAO SORRYBasically; tommy has claustrophobia and wilbur thinks he's joking until oh god oh fuck he's definitely not joking--Based off of the Rust stream they did like. 3 days ago now? It's pretty pog you should go watch it if you haven't already (or watch it again like i do. comfort stream baybeeee)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 28
Kudos: 605





	Rusty Boys

**Author's Note:**

> tw: panic attacks, claustrophobia, descriptions of spaces closing in/ losing air 
> 
> \---
> 
> this is, no lie, some of my worst work LMAO-- i live in america so covid, the raids on the whitehouse, my college is falling apart, so basically my writing has sort of plummeted! Definitely just cranked this out because Wilbur and Tommy keep hitting me with "im claustrophobic" and "we're like brothers" "stop i'll cry" and honestly, it was too sweet to not write a little blurb for. 
> 
> anyway-- once my mental health improves from all this *stress* i will work on editing and sending out some good shit i have planned. got some jack manifold pog, lots of misfern, and some sbi/ wilbur resurrection because im manifesting brother dynamics in the dream smp. 
> 
> <3

This was so stupid. And Tommy couldn't stop saying that it was. This situation, the world, everyone-- Especially Wilbur. Stupid. He's only met the guy, what, a month or two ago now? But he could pin him with one word easily. And that word was stupid. 

"Seriously, Tommy, I'm on my way--" Wilbur laughs, voice easy and calm even though he definitely should not be the mother fucker-- "I'm stopping to grab us some food beforehand." 

Stupid. Stupid. He resists the urge to shout and make a scene. He's already in the house, alone, in the middle of the woods with two of the stronger people on the server carving his name into a bullet for him. Not to mention, he couldn't run. 

"No! Come get me out!" Tommy snarls, furiously pounding on the front door. He'd woken up a bit too late from recovery and lost his key on the way back, now he was stuck in the damn house. And that wouldn't be an issue if there weren't bars on the windows and everything is made of fuckin' stone. If everything wasn't just too cold to feel comfortable, and he swore every noise outside of the house was someone on their way to break in.

"I'm coming!" Wilbur huffs, exasperated, "Seriously, Tommy, just be patient." 

Sure. Easy for HIM to fuckin' say! "I'm gonna start breaking down the damn door." Tommy snips, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was freezing, but sweat poured from his skin and stained his clothes as if he was burning alive. Tommy disregards it, grabbing a fistful of his shirt with a shaky hand and wiping off his face. 

He picks up a rock and begins to bang it against the metal door. No progress gets made, but the repetitive action is enough to stop Tommy from having a full on break down in front of Wilbur, so-- Win for him. The sound, however, seems to reach the ears of Wilbur on the other end of the line. 

"Are you serious? Fuckin' patience, child! I'm on my way! Just chill!" Wilbur's voice crackles through the communicator, grating on Tommy's ear just wrong enough for him to justify flinging it off his head and across the room. He hears a more distant, "Hey!" Of annoyance that he ignores. 

Tommy hoists up the rock, sweat slick hands slipping on the rough edges, and swings it onto the door over and over, chest tightening with each strike that doesn't break it. 

And then, the rock crumbles in his hands. With one pointed hit, a slowly growing crack along the stone snaps and ruins the whole thing, making smaller shards of stone that would be no good for breaking down the door. 

Tommy's heart is pounding, head packed with cotton and adrenaline as he races up the stairs- just to check again-- 

He throws open the shudders and wraps his hands around the bars, yanking the wire around for any looseness. 

"C'mon, c'mon--" Tommy swallows hard, blinking away the sting in his eyes. He's not crying, he's not gonna fucking cry over this shit--

He gives it another pull inwards and the bars refuse to budge, causing him to cry out in frustration, kicking the wall below. It only furthers his panic. Tommy races back down the steps and tosses his shoulder into the metal door, hissing when it aches from the force. 

"Open-- Open-- fucking shit--" He seethes, fear and desperation wavering his tone, "Please--" 

The windows were swung open, but it's like the bars pulsed too close together to let in an air flow, stifling his breath. Black burned like seared edges of paper in the peripheral of his vision. Everything was so loud, screaming for his attention. The shutters creaking in the wind, the floorboards beneath him whining, the flickering candle that cracks and pops. 

Something was wrong. Someone'd gassed their house or poisoned him in his sleep-- he was fucking dying and he needed to get out of this fucking house but there was no keys and he can't open the goddamn door.

Tommy runs at the door again, bracing his shoulder to try and break the thing off it's hinges again. 

"Please-- Please, open-- I don't wanna fuckin'--" His eyes tear up again and he dashes them away with his palm. Tommy bangs at the door with his fist, croaking out a yell, "Someone open the fucking door! Open-- Open the stupid fucking door I'm--" 

He's not drowning, there's no water in his lungs, but it feels like he's drowning. In some thick viscous air that's clinging to the inside of his throat and sealing his airway's closed. He's never drowned, but Tommy's certain that this is what it feels like. 

Tommy presses his face into the heel of his palm, shoulders aching and shaking. He sucks in a deep breath, tumbling back onto his ass and pushing with his feet towards the nearest wall. Everything felt like it was collapsing inwards, slowly inching closer and closer until Tommy'd be the last thing they squish with force. His shoes hit uselessly at the stone under him, his back hitting rusted metal and digging into his thin shirt. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-- fuck--" He doesn't even try to hold back the bitten sob anymore, fingers curling into his hair. He can hear it, hear the walls moving closer in on him, taking more and more of his air from him. He was trapped, he was a goner, he was good as dead.

The door opens. 

"Tommy!" Wilbur balks, looking startled when Tommy's head whips upwards and he's on his feet in seconds, sprinting towards the open door. The younger pushes past him, stumbling out into the grass and falling onto his knees with a relieved gasp. 

Even hunched over, Wilbur can see his shoulders hiccup with forceful sobs. 

"Holy shit," He whispers, putting his key in his pocket and jogging to Tommy's side, kneeling by his head, "Hey-- hey, Tommy, it's alright. You're alright, just breathe--" Wilbur looks inside the house, checking for any intruders, or maybe trapped rabbits that just spooked the boy, to see nothing. It really was the fact he was stuck in that house with no way out that scared him this much. 

Wilbur's face pinches in concern as he lays a hand on the boy's back, rubbing it softly in circles, "I'm sorry, I didn't think you-- I thought you were fucking around..." He says quietly, thumbing in between his shoulder blades as Tommy gags back nausea. 

What the fuck happened to Tommy that he was so goddamn claustrophobic? And why'd he never tell him before? 

"Do you want a hug...?" Wilbur asks sheepishly, concerned frown still firmly planted on his face. Tommy, still keeled over, breathes hard for a few more seconds, eyes squeezed shut and thinking, before he nods slowly. 

Wilbur's kind of glad because he's not sure what he could've done to help more than hugs and encouragement. He's not a therapist, he's not some genius baby sitter or anything, he just happened to find a kid in the goddamn woods who needed help those couple weeks ago. 

He sighs, content, as Tommy sinks into his arms and wraps around his torso, burying his face into the other's collarbones. 

"You're alright, Tom. You're good. There's nothing here to get you right now. I'm always there to open the door, you won't be trapped again. You're safe." He sighs, trying to muster up some combination of words to make this ailment on such a young kid disappear. 

"Thought I was gonna fuckin' die." Tommy strangles out, "M' sorry." 

"It's alright. Maybe we should've stacked up keys inside the house in case something like this happened." 

"Might've broken a window." 

"I can fix windows, Tommy. It's a mild annoyance at best, and that's really pushing it. I'm just... glad you're safe. Your comm's went dead and I was worried." 

Tommy doesn't answer that with anything more than a hum, his breaths slowing to match Wilbur's, heartbeat growing more levelled. 

Still, he didn't let go. A smaller, younger, part of Tommy was worried that when he did, the walls would start closing in again. Bringing him back to that dark, lonely, space where no one cared if he lived or died. 

"Let's head inside before it gets dark, yeah? I've got a bunch of food now too, so we can really eat well tonight." Wilbur says to lighten the mood, letting one hand go of Tommy to pull his bag to his front. He opens the top to show the packed frozen fish and veggies, which the boy gapes at hungrily. 

Wilbur laughs at that, "Yeah, agreed, man. It's been too long since I've been able to buy food here. C'mon, let's go indoors ." He stands, letting Tommy gently fall from his grasp, but holds out his hand anyway. 

Tommy eyes the outstretched hand and grumbles, "I'm not a fuckin' kid." 

"You were just cuddling me, Tommy. You can hold my hand if you want. It's just an offer, if you're still shaken up." Wilbur raises his eyebrows, bemused by Tommy's conflict. 

He mumbles incoherently, embarrassed, and takes Wilbur's hand as they walk back inside the house. It just feels safer this way, knowing Wilbur would steer him away from any danger, if there was any in the house. 

He wouldn't let him suffocate. 

"We're like brothers." Tommy snorts, looking at the clasped palms and back to Wilbur, who's unpacking the fresh produce and placing it onto the counter with one hand. The house is sufficiently more open now, windows letting in fresh air. The door never shuts behind them, Wilbur leaving it open in case Tommy gets panicked. 

The older pauses, caught off guard. An easy smile works it's way across his face and he chuckles under his breath, "Don't say that. I'll cry." But doesn't deny it, squeezing his hand once like a teasing warning. 

Tommy smiles, all teeth and mischievous energy that Wilbur knows him by so well now, "Pussy." 

Wilbur rolls his eyes, snatching his hand from Tommy's grip, "You've lost your wholesome privileges." 

"No! Rude!"

"I need to cook, child." Wilbur bats at the boy, relenting when Tommy squishes into his side, leaning hard against him while he lights up the furnace, "You're like a cat." 

"Whatever, focus on cooking you fuckin'... giant." 

Wilbur does, pointedly ignoring the insults to sear the fish in a pan, filling the house up with the smell of delicious cooked food. 

Tommy doesn't separate himself from Wilbur's side the whole time. And Wilbur places three spare keys in the tool cabinet inside the house, within Tommy's sight. 

Understanding is reached and food is eaten. Both of them sleep better at night, knowing the keys are there.

**Author's Note:**

> just finished the edits and tags for this and realized i came off very aggressive today LMAO
> 
> sorry! im very on edge right now, ptsd is a bitch! 
> 
> still hope you'll have a lovely night. rest well <3


End file.
